


Domestic Arrangements

by loathlylady



Category: The Emperor's Edge Series - Lindsay Buroker
Genre: F/M, Forum: Emperor's Edge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22040893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loathlylady/pseuds/loathlylady
Summary: Maldynado and Evrial work things out against the dresser.***Originally posted on the Emperor's Edge forums, which have since been removed from the internet. This was part of a sex-writing challenge for Valentine's Day 2013 called Cupidcarius. My understanding of Maldynado and Yara as a couple has evolved since this, but when I wrote it, it seemed accurate for their dynamic.
Relationships: Evrial Yara/Maldynado Montichelu
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Domestic Arrangements

“I love your enforcer uniform,” Maldynado said from the doorway.

“What?” Evrial frowned, fingers pausing halfway down as she undid the buttons that went nearly to her chin. As a general thing, Maldynado was a fervent and vocal proponent of clothing that was cut a lot lower and a lot tighter than her uniform. There were a couple abbreviated belts hanging in the closet that he insisted were dresses, but she knew better.

When he didn’t answer, she caught his gaze in the dresser mirror in front of her. He was . . . not too long ago, she would have called the expression on his face a leer, but she had come to think of that particular expression as speculative, as if he were planning something. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he winked.

“You hate my uniform,” she said, continuing to unbutton her jacket to distract herself from the feeling that went through her at that wink. The man really had no right whatsoever to make her feel that way just by looking at her. It wasn’t fair, when she couldn’t do the same thing to him. She knew that he was frequently in the mood, but that was mostly just the way he was. She didn’t have much to do with it herself.

“I’m sorry if I ever gave you that impression, because I don’t. It suits you, and I know you’re comfortable in it, which makes me happy,” he said, padding towards her on bare feet. He liked to kick his shoes off as soon as he entered their flat, but at this time of the day, she was lucky he was still wearing trousers. 

She undid the last button and her jacket sagged open. From behind her, Maldynado slid his hand inside the jacket, warm against her abdomen though the thin fabric of her undershirt. 

“It’s really more that I love what’s underneath it,” he murmured, continuing to look at her speculatively in the mirror.

She raised an eyebrow and tried to sound nonchalant, even as the brushing of his fingers made gooseflesh rise on her arms.

“A black cotton shirt?”

He chuckled, low in his throat, and pulled her back against his chest. There weren’t many men in the empire who could do it, but he was big enough that she felt small in his arms. Delicate, even. And she definitely wasn’t either of those things.

“No, under that,” he said, nuzzling her neck as his long fingers tugged at her undershirt until it pulled free from the waistband of her trousers in the front. She controlled a shiver. “Skin. Lots of smooth, supple, wonderful to touch skin.” 

He swept his hand across the bare skin of her belly, and she felt herself begin to tense up, feeling almost like she did before a fight. It wouldn’t do to fall apart every time he touched her or held her. It might give him ideas, and he didn’t need any help there. Especially since his touching her tended to give her ideas of her own, and she was afraid of his reaction if she shared them. As uninhibited as Maldynado was, he’d probably find those thoughts laughably tame. The thought made her feel a little sick. Better not to share than to feel rejected.

“There is also,” he continued, oblivious to her thoughts and hand traveling upwards, “some very pretty and very non-regulation lingerie under all that gray wool.” His fingertips ran along the band of her brassiere, which was a far cry from what the regulations required. Her choice in underwear had always been her secret, and since they had moved in together, Maldynado’s secret, too. “The regulations say plain white cotton only, don’t they? And this one is . . .” He rubbed his thumb over the bottom of her breast, as if testing the fabric to identify it. Evrial willed her pulse to slow down — he hadn’t even kissed her yet and her heart was tripping along like a blacksmith’s hammer tapping away in her chest. He released a satisfied breath against her neck, and the hammer doubled its speed.

“This is the plum satin set, isn’t it? With the black lace insertion. I like that one.” His tone turned expository, as if his lingerie preferences were a topic he could hold out on for quite some time. His thumb rested casually near some very sensitive territory, which didn’t help her pulse at all. As he went on, however, this became less significant. “Not as much as the black one with the little flowers on it, or that pink bra you have that’s sheer and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. And then there’s that dark blue thing with the ruffles. I don’t even know what you’d call that, but it is definitely my favorite. What you’ve got on now is really a very satisfactory fourth place.”

Evrial pulled away and turned around to face him, crossing her arms under her breasts, which were, yes, supported by a plum satin brassiere, with matching bottoms under her uniform trousers. His ability to identify that by touch alone was a little bit uncanny. That he appeared to have catalogued her underwear was really uncanny.

“Mal, what are you trying to do?”

“Seduce you.” He frowned. “Is it not working? Where did I go wrong?”

“Talking. Definitely the talking.”

He looked disgruntled, and sounded it when he spoke.

“You think me talking gets in the way of me seducing you.”

She scowled.

“You ranked my underwear according to your preference.”  
“First of all, Evi, you own lingerie. Your taste is way too good for you to own mere underwear. And it’s not the lingerie that does it for me — it’s seeing you in it. If it were just laying on the floor, then I wouldn’t care about it at all. Especially if the reason it was on the floor was because you had recently been in it.” He waggled his eyebrows and sighed when her scowl didn’t fade. She was more than a little suspicious that half the things he said to her weren’t anything more than empty flattery. When he was talking honestly and from the heart, she could tell, but when he was talking from his trousers, the doubt remained.

“So, you don’t like me telling you how much I like the way you look in your frillies,” he said. “I don’t know if I can avoid it for the rest of our natural lives. It’s become fairly important to me over the past few months. A preoccupation, you might call it.”

She ignored that and said, “The way you went about it made you sound like Books when he’s talking about past Turgonian emperors.”

Maldynado’s jaw dropped and he looked scandalized.

“Booksie! You think I sound like Booksie when I’m talking about you and lingerie. You in lingerie! That cannot stand.” He went to the window to lower the shade, and then dragged the elaborately carved chair they used to put their socks and shoes on in the morning to the middle of the room. It was the remnant of some long dead emperor’s passion for the finer arts, and Maldynado had only allowed it in their bedroom after she had refused to let him put a silk-upholstered chaise longue in there. The chair might not have arms, but at least it didn’t look like it belonged in a bordello.

“I’m going to change your mind,” he said, jabbing a finger at her. He sat down facing her, and gazed at her almost truculently, as if he had something to prove. “Now strip.”

“You want me to what?”

She dropped her arms and stared at him, while something inside her trembled warmly. This sounded a lot like the beginning of one of those ideas she didn’t want to share, and Maldynado did not sound opposed to it in the least.

“I want you to take off that uniform,” he said calmly, “so I can prove you wrong about me sounding like Books under any circumstances, but especially ones where you are scantily clad.”

Evrial studied him, slouched in the chair with his legs set wide apart. With his shirtsleeves rolled up to display his muscular forearms and stubble coming up on his jaw this late in the day, he looked like one of the disreputable, vaguely dangerous men she was usually picking up from dockside taverns to throw in jail. That trembling part of her fluttered anew as she realized he once had been one of those men, and she knew from experience that there was nothing vague about how dangerous he was. 

Dropping her chin, she said deliberately, “Make me.”

A glint entered Maldynado’s eyes, and he raised a hand to his mouth to scrub away a smile. The trembling turned into a hot pulse thrumming between her legs. This was happening.

“Evrial Yara,” he said in a silky, grimbal growl of a voice, “take your clothes off right now. If I have to come over there to make you do it, you won’t like it very much.”

She bit her lip, contemplating her next move. Did she want him to come over to her? She rather thought she did.

“I’d probably hate it,” she said, bringing the edges of her jacket together as if she were going to button it up again.

Mal’s eyes widened and he sucked in a lungful of air the wrong way, triggering a coughing fit. He cleared his throat and said hoarsely, “A demonstration for another time. Just take your uniform off like a good girl and then come over here.”

She felt a little disappointment at the prospect of being a good girl, but she slipped out of her jacket anyway, and folded it before laying it on the top of the dresser. After that, she was at a loss. Generally, she sat down on the chair and undid her boot laces next, but the chair was currently occupied, and sitting on the floor to take off her boots didn’t seem especially appropriate. Even less so than standing there in a matching lingerie set while wearing combat boots, so the damned things were going to have to come off eventually.

“Shirt first,” Maldynado prompted from the chair. “Then boots and trousers. Leave the lingerie on.”

An image entered her mind of herself, half-undressed and bent over to take off her boots, certain parts of her shimmying as she struggled with a knot while Maldynado watched. Appreciatively. She felt hot color flood her face as she remembered the speculative look he had given her from the door earlier. The thought of being watched probably shouldn’t appeal that much, but there was no denying that it did.

“All right,” she said quietly, and then took her time pulling her shirt out of her waistband, letting Mal catch little glimpses of her skin before she let the shirt drop again. Usually by the time her shirt was coming off, he had already spent considerable time kissing and stroking her out of it, if they bothered taking it off at all. The last time — Evrial’s fingers spasmed with the memory of it as she grasped the hem of her undershirt — the last time he had just shoved the shirt up and pushed the cups of her brassiere down, in too much of a hurry for anything else.

But they weren’t in a hurry now. She raised the shirt by slow increments, watching him the entire time. By the expression on his face, watching appealed to him, too, which only made her like it more. Her nipples hardened as she let her knuckles brush them on the way up, the touch of her own hand making her skin jump. That meant that as she pulled the shirt over her head, Maldynado was treated to the sight of her breasts framed by dark satin, nipples clearly visible through the fabric. She could feel the tops of her breasts shake a little as she tugged the shirt free, and she heard him shift his weight in the chair as the shirt joined the jacket on the dresser.  
She took her boots off with the same slow deliberation, glancing at Maldynado from time to time to reassure herself that he was still enjoying himself and she wasn’t making a fool of herself. The brushing of her arms across her breasts and bare skin as she tugged at the laces was nearly torturous under his direct, assessing gaze. Every inch of her skin was hungry with anticipation, and by the time she had undone her belt buckle and the first button on the fly of her trousers, her hands were as shaky as her breathing. She hoped that anticipation wasn’t for nothing. If all he wanted to do was watch, she would be . . . devastated.

Maldynado must have caught what he read as hesitation on her face, because he said gently, “Evi, honey, if you don’t want to do anything, then you don’t have to do it. Just tell me no, and I won’t press the issue.”

Now that was from his heart, however misguided it might be at the moment. A smile softened her face as she came toward him, undoing the second and third buttons on her trousers. Mal was watching her cautiously, but she could see how dark with need his eyes were. Hers were probably the same.

“That’s not what I was thinking.” She undid the fourth and final button, and the trousers slid partway down her hips under the weight of her belt. She stood just in front of him, and his gaze shifted briefly downward before returning to her face, eyes darker than ever. 

“I was hoping that watching wasn’t all you wanted to do,” she continued after a brief pause. Please let it not be the only thing.

He gave a rough laugh and reached for her.

“Definitely not,” he muttered, settling his hands on her waist and sliding them down inside her trousers to squeeze her rear. Pushed over her hips, her trousers fell the rest of the way to the floor, and she discreetly stepped out, kicking them away. This left nothing between her and Maldynado but a thin layer of silk and some air, which brushed coolly against her skin through the sheer lace inset in her bottoms. A little smile on his face, Maldynado traced the lines of black lace down the outside of her legs, bumping the buttons that closed the waistband on either side, until he reached the hems and slid his hands beneath the silk, a warm contrast to the cool air. Her breath came out in a pleased sigh.

His fingers curled around her thighs, lying near a part of her she very much hoped he wasn’t planning on just looking at. Though that thought was not entirely disagreeable in itself. Only incomplete. For him especially.

“Look at how beautiful you are,” he said, rubbing his thumbs in circles against her skin. “I feel lucky every time I get to see you like this, or remember that I have, which is frequently.”

Distracted by the location of his hands, she made a little scoffing sound in the back of her throat before she could stop herself. Beautiful? Mal looked up at her and raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t see how you couldn’t agree with me. Have you ever seen yourself?” He tightened his hands on her legs. “Evi, these thighs alone could win awards. A gold medal for each one and a trophy for the pair. Half the joy in going down on you is the chance to have them pressed against my skull. And my hands under your ass, lifting you up to my mouth. Rust, Evi, the taste of your skin . . .” He leaned forward and licked her belly, making her gasp and grab at his shoulders to stay upright.

“Why do you have to talk so much when your mouth is so good at so many other things?” she asked when she thought she could trust her voice and her legs to stay firm.

His voice was muffled as he rubbed his stubbled cheek against her stomach, which again threatened her balance. Rough after soft, gah.

“Just so we’re clear, is it the talking you object to or the content? Because I can do silence, it’s just not—” he trailed his nose down so his breath puffed warm through the thin silk of her bottoms “—nearly as much fun.”

An inch, she thought. Maybe two. All she had to do was slide her hands up into that soft, curly hair and pull his mouth down an inch, and he’d be too busy demonstrating his love for her body to keep talking about it. 

As if sensing her plan, he grabbed her by the hips and put some distance between them, holding her off at armslength and waiting for her to answer his question with an expression that said he would do so patiently.

She sighed.

“I don’t appreciate hearing things that are—” big, fat lies from a man who might come to his senses at any time “—not compatible with reality.”

Confusion made his brows draw down.

“Evi, I wouldn’t lie to you. And I can’t lie to you about this.”

“What do you mean?” She was fairly confident that he could summon up all kinds of embellished and exaggerated flattery to get a woman into his arms. His bed. She was just waiting for the moment when he decided she wasn’t worth the effort anymore.

“It’s physically impossible.” He slid his hands back to the crook of her thighs and tugged her toward him. “Come here. I want you to perch upon my knee, so I can show you something.”

Evrial grimaced.

“I’m too big to sit on your lap.”

His voice turned low and caressing, wearing away at her resistance.

“You’re not. I’m a strapping sort of fellow, and you fit against me perfectly. Besides, you’ve done it before.” He grinned, a quick flash of his teeth that didn’t match his seductive tone. A smile from the heart. “That’s a night I cherish.”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” she protested, even as he pulled her onto his lap. With both her legs between his and her feet farther off the floor than she was accustomed to, she ended up wobbling until he put his arm around her waist and pulled her side against his chest. She braced herself and took a shaky breath. The fabric of his clothing against her bare skin was . . . incongruent. Stimulating. And the warm muscle below it — he would never have to doubt anyone who said he was beautiful. He even felt beautiful.

“You don’t seem to understand that when I tell you the things I do, I mean them. So, I’m going to show you.” He picked up her arm by the wrist and pressed a quick kiss into her palm, looking her in the eyes. Then he placed her hand firmly on the front of his trousers. She swallowed. She could feel him hot and hard even through the fabric, pulsing against her fingers. A little breathlessly, he continued speaking.

“This is from you. From watching you, from looking at you, from telling you what I see. I don’t need anything else to get hard when you’re around, because you are beautiful. Just thinking about you is enough.”

She felt the sudden urge to cry, overwhelmed with a variety of frustrations and contradicting information. What she knew didn’t match with what she heard or what she had felt under her hand. The pieces of it didn’t fit together in her head; the shapes were all wrong. What he told her wasn’t what the world told her, but he wasn’t lying. She could tell he wasn’t lying — she just couldn’t believe him.

He released her hand and caught her face in both of his. He kissed her slowly and tenderly, and she found herself grabbing handfuls of his smooth, crisp shirt to stop from tumbling off his leg. She was such a welter of emotions that she didn’t know what to make of it. Not that he hadn’t ever kissed her like this before — he seemed to specialize in slow, unhurried kisses, designed to be enjoyable in themselves — but this one was laden with something more. She tended to separate his behavior into things prompted by her and things prompted by his inherent nature, but now she was mess of arousal and doubt and hope and fear and the intense desire to really be as he saw her, and she couldn’t sort out what was him and what was her. He was, he was . . . 

He wasn’t trying to keep those parts of himself separate. And it had been a long time since he had tried to do it with her. A very long time. If ever.

By the time he pulled away and dropped his hands, she ached. For him, for doubting him for so long, and maybe she ached a little with him. With stupidity, definitely.

“I want you, Evi. I don’t know why you can’t see that.” Maldynado tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked almost sad. She looked away. “Do you not like yourself even a little bit?”

“I don’t hate myself,” she said. She liked very many things about herself. They just didn’t involve . . . areas related to lingerie. She was strong and competent and good at her job. Very good at her job. The fancy lingerie was more a way of reminding herself that, if she couldn’t be delicate and feminine, then she could at least pretend to be for the thirty seconds every morning before she pulled her uniform on and had to be more masculine than some of the male enforcers. But Mal didn’t seem to think the pretending was necessary.

“Prove it,” he said after a moment of silence. 

Awareness of the hand he had let fall on her leg came prickling back as her body responded to his challenging tone.

“What?” she asked warily.

He shrugged, a gesture that somehow managed to involve his entire body shifting against her, firm muscle under fine cloth.

“Tell me something you like about yourself.”

“About me?” Herself? What was he trying to do here? It was bad enough when he told her about herself. It didn’t need to come out of her own mouth.

“Yup.” His deep voice rubbed pleasurably against her nerves just as much as his calloused hand did against her skin. “Prove to me that you’re aware of what you’ve got. I’ve told you what I like about you many times. Now it’s your turn.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you what I like about you, then?” She had a list. It was a long one.

“Nope. This isn’t about me.” He patted her on the leg, cheerful and matter of fact. “This is about you.” 

There was that avenue of escape closed. And she wasn’t sure she could live with her cowardice if she refused to answer. She wasn’t a coward. She could tell him — she looked at him, waiting for her to speak — something.

“I like that I’m strong,” she said grudgingly.

Maldynado smiled at her as if she had just presented him with a new hat.

“You should,” he said. “I do.” He rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “These are good muscles. They’re part of what make you beautiful.”

She smiled back, hesitant and confused. That wasn’t what she had meant. Mal leaned in and kissed her on the lips, too quick to be anything but encouragement. She touched her mouth briefly to stop herself from following after him and soldiered on. He was being so normal about this. There was no reason for her to . . . be weird about this undoubtedly strange thing they were currently engaged in.

“I have pretty eyes.” At least, her father always said so. She didn’t think it was just from kindness.

“You have beautiful eyes,” he said, kissing her gently on each eyelid. One side of her mouth curved up. If he was just going to agree with everything she said, then she might as well go for broke.

“I have nice breasts,” she said, raising her hands and setting them lightly on the anatomy in question.

Maldynado made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and she decided to enjoy that reaction.

“You do,” he said. “You absolutely do. After your thighs, they are one of my favorite parts of you. In or out of lingerie, but mostly out.” He grinned at her and trailed a fingertip along the flesh just above where her hands rested, her nipples hardening against her palms from that touch alone. He asked, almost shyly, “Would you like to, ah, show me how nice they are?”

Without saying anything, she reached behind her back to undo the clasp on her brassiere, not bothering to be coy as she slid it off and let it fall on the floor. Under Mal’s gaze, her breasts looked rather proud to be on display, her nipples standing at attention as they were, but they were a warm, heavy weight on her chest. Full and sensitive.

“Everything in order?” she asked when he didn’t speak immediately and she was starting to feel a little nervous.

“Shh. Let me bask in the glory.” He settled his hand on her ribcage, just below her breast, but made no move to touch anything else. “It’s pretty glorious. I could be here a while.”

She narrowly resisted snorting.

“You could, um, touch them,” she suggested. “While you were basking.”

“Or you could,” he said. It didn’t sound like a retort, especially when he took her hands and returned them to where they had been before she had taken off her brassiere. “Just, you know, lightly.”

“What if I don’t want to do it lightly?” she asked, cupping her breasts and letting her thumb drift along her own flesh. She grazed her nipple and her breath hitched. Mal’s hand jerked on her leg. 

“Lightly is best,” he said hoarsely. His eyes drifted up to hers, and she saw the need that had been building behind his matter-of-fact attitude. “You get this expression on your face that lets me know when I’m doing something right, and lightly always lets me see it.”

She dragged her thumb over the stiff, sensitive peak again, and for the first time she was aware of the way her response was spelled out across her face. And the way it was echoed in his face, watching her. That, more than the touch of her hand or the weight of his, increased the ache between her thighs.

She stroked once more, catching the flesh between her thumb and the side of her finger, just barely pinching. At the sweet shock of the sensation from her own hand, she inhaled sharply and her eyes widened. His were still on her face, dark and intent.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he breathed.

And then he was kissing her, mouth hard on hers and all his earlier gentleness gone. She moaned against his mouth as one of his hands came between them and stroked more roughly than she had, and his tongue slipped between her lips, touching on the delicate skin just inside before venturing farther in. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself closer, the fabric of his clothing dragging on skin even more bare and sensitive than before. It was — she shifted against him, and his other hand played a matching pattern of sensation up her back — so good. 

Maldynado laced his fingers through her hair and urged her head to the side, so he could lick and nip his way down her throat and across her collarbone. She cried out as his mouth teased the tip of one breast and his hand plucked and rolled the other. Grasping his head in both hands, she arched into him and let her eyes fall shut as he sucked and bit and soothed before transferring his attentions to the other breast. She wanted to move, heat and pressure building inside her, and she did, the outside of her thigh grinding hard against him.

His neck tensed under her hands and he gripped her hips, stopping her movement. He raised his head just enough to rest it against her shoulder, tantalizingly close to where he had been before but far enough away to be frustrating. His breath came in quick, hot bursts against her skin.

“You stopped,” she said in a dazed, accusing voice. He pressed his head hard against her shoulder for a moment and then lifted it to give her a wry look, one eyebrow curving up. At some point, he had lost his hair tie, and his hair fell in loose waves about his face.

“Evi. Evrial.” He gave a wheezy chuckle and dropped a kiss on her mouth. She nipped at his full lower lip, and he groaned and drew away. “If you keep that up, I’m not going to last long enough to give you what you deserve.”

She scowled. What she deserved? She was pretty sure what she deserved was to have Mal inside her, and soon. On the floor, on the bed, on her back, bent over the chair — she was not especially particular at the moment.

She opened her mouth to say this, but he spoke before she could, surprising her into silence.

“Touch yourself.” Maldynado cupped his hand around the damp silk of her bottoms, showing her what part of herself he meant. “I want to see you do it, since I am in no condition to myself. If I did . . .” He buried his face in her hair, voice dropping to a gruff mumble. “Only one of us would have any satisfaction, and it probably wouldn’t be you.”  
“I can’t,” she whispered after a tense moment, heart pounding too hard for her to speak any louder.

“Can’t or won’t?” he asked, nipping at her ear. A wave of heat rolled over her, and her hips bucked into his hand. Rust. She might not need to touch herself if he kept doing that. “Or don’t want to?”

“No, I mean I can’t. The angle — I like to be lying back . . .” She stumbled to a stop, annoyed with herself. There was probably no need to let him know how much experience she had doing this. That she had done it often enough to have preferences as entrenched as his for her lingerie.

“Oh.” There was a trace of amusement in his voice. Predictably irritating, though that abated somewhat when he continued to kiss and nibble her ear and neck, removing his hand to push her hair out of the way. “How did you make yourself come when I was gone a few weeks ago? Bathtub, our bed? Lay the scene for me, Evi, so I can make it right for you.”

She froze. She wanted to tell him, but didn’t like being found out. He had gone out of town for more than a week to check on some family properties, and she had gotten impatient waiting for him to return, too accustomed to his frequent attentions to resist her old habits. She had missed him for more than just that, but that had been the only problem she could solve on her own. Possibly on a daily basis.

“How did you know?” she asked carefully, trying not to squirm as her surprise faded.

He smiled against her neck.

“I smelled it on your hand when you kissed me at the door. You put your hand on my cheek, and there was no mistaking that scent for anything else. It was . . .” He released a hot breath, or possibly unvoiced laughter, across her skin. “A very welcome revelation. My Evi, making herself wet and needy all on her own. If I had known that was going on back home, the thought would have kept me awake at night. Hard as an iron spike.”

That only conjured up images of Mal’s, ah, spike, only inches from where her hand now rested on his shirt. So close. She remembered the shape of him beneath her fingers and wanted to feel it again. If he came before her, then she wouldn’t have to wait too long . . .

He caught her right hand before she had even made it past two shirt buttons. Raising it to his mouth, he brushed her fingertips against his lips a few times as he shook his head at her, lust and humor sparking in his eyes, before biting the flesh lightly. She gasped and felt his answering inhalation as a hot thrill through her whole body.

Mal laid her hand on her belly, pointed in the direction he wanted her to go, with his own laid on top. 

“Please show me,” he said, tipping her back against the arm circling her waist and shifting it up her back. She slid forward so the upper part of her backside was pressed against his thigh, hips tilted up. He nudged the knee of the leg she wasn’t perched on under one of hers, spreading her legs open, and her other foot fumbled for a firmer purchase on the floor. She shuddered at the cool air brushing against her inner thighs.

“Will this work?” he asked. Her upper back was supported by his arm, and she could lean her head against his shoulder. When she inhaled, she smelled his cologne and the faint, almost musky scent of his body, stronger now than usual. Stronger for wanting her.

“Yes.” She breathed in the scent of him and felt like cursing. “Ancestors, Mal. I’ll make it work.”

Her voice sounded strained in her own ears, and Mal huffed a laugh, which made the pulse pounding between her legs increase. She had thought that she didn’t want him just to watch, but apparently watching didn’t exclude touching. Her muscles were shaky with anticipation of him watching while she touched.

“Then we’ll just get rid of these,” he said, releasing her hand to undo the buttons on either side of her waistband and then sweep her bottoms off, somehow managing the maneuver without her feeling too awkward about it. 

Despite the fact that he was still fully clothed and she was now entirely naked, she didn’t feel vulnerable — powerful, rather. It helped that he was as strung out as she was, and that his hands had not been quite steady as he slipped off her bottoms. And then there was the way he dragged one finger reverently through the dark curls on her mound, as if the sight were worthy of some devotion.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Beautiful. I remember hoping that you weren’t one of those women who waxed everything away, and then I saw this, and —” His voice broke, and he took a deep breath before saying, “Touch yourself, Evi. Please.”

She whimpered as she slid her hand down the skin of her lower belly and across the curls Mal had just admired, wet with arousal. She could smell her own earthy scent, and she knew he could, too, which only made her wetter. Parting her outer lips, she stroked her fingers across the sensitive inner folds, letting them grow slick with the desire that had been building since Mal had entered the room. She felt swollen and hot and ready to unravel at any moment.

The first graze of her fingertip across her clit had her making a breathy little cry and nearly losing her perch on Mal’s leg. He caught her with one hand under her arm and the other on the leg spread over his.

“I got you, I got you,” he said, shifting their positions so he could prop his elbow on the back of the chair. Her head came to rest in the bend of his arm, and he hitched her leg a little higher, opening her even farther. “Better?”

She nodded and laughed breathlessly, feeling more secure and less likely to end up on the floor. The strength of him was hot all along her side, and hotter still was the press of his fingers on her thigh. And with her backside in the curve where his leg met his body, she could just feel him riding hard against the back of the thigh stretched across his leg. She shifted that leg experimentally, and he muttered something under his breath and held her still. 

More tentatively, she caressed herself, not dipping inside but only rubbing in circles around her clit. The other way would take too much time, and she wanted — her hips pushed forward against her hand insistently — she wanted it now. Her eyes fell almost closed, and she let her lips part as she found a rhythm that worked.

The pressure built and mounted, making muscles that had been shaky before tense. She could feel the potential for her release pooling in her back and thighs, her foot flexing against the floor as she reached for it. Close but not quite there, she pressed her head back against Mal’s arm and caught him looking at her. Not at what her hand was doing or her breasts, but at her face, watching the play of reaction in her parted lips and flushed cheeks and half-closed eyes.

“Evrial,” he said, eyes never leaving hers, “I love watching you fall apart. I love it when you’re on top, so I can see every part of your response across your face as you come. I can’t wait to see it now.” His fingers bit into her thigh, and his voice turned husky. It was the last thing she needed. “Come on, Evi. Let go. Let it come. Let me see.” 

She brushed her finger over her clit once, twice more, and then pressed hard, body arching up into her own hand as she came. Her eyes slammed shut, and she forgot to breathe for a moment as raw sensation coursed through her. And then she took a shuddering breath and said his name in a shattered voice, which had him gathering her close again, lifting her leg off his and wrapping his arms around her. She curled against him gratefully, panting and shaken by the force of her orgasm.

It echoed in her limbs and in the still quivering muscles of her belly, lingering feeling that made her joints fluid and unsure. She had not been expecting anything that strong, as strong as anything she experienced from Malydnado. No, not from. With. It had always been with Maldynado, and this had been with him, too. Even if — she smiled to herself, beginning to feel satisfied and bold in the aftermath — he hadn’t been the one doing the touching.

As her breathing and pulse returned to something closer to normal, she became aware again of Maldynado against her. He was tense and holding so very, very still she could feel his heartbeat shaking his chest. She straightened up, deliberately brushing her breasts against him. He twitched. Her smile became a smirk.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” she asked, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, stubble rough against her lips. She pressed another one to his throat and felt his emperor’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“I don’t even know anymore,” he said tightly. “I have never wanted to be naked more before in my life than at this moment.”

She undid one button on his shirt, then a few more, and said, “We could fix that.” She slid her hand inside the newly opened placket and nearly sighed at the feeling of his smooth, soft skin underneath her fingers. As stimulating as his clothing against her skin was, nothing could compare to this. He was right — skin was wonderful to touch, and it would be even more wonderful if he took his shirt off so she could feel it all against her.

His muscles shuddered under her hand, and he groaned when she brushed his nipple. She bit her lip. Lightly worked for him, too.

She came to a decision, watching the flicker of controlled desire across his face. This had been about her, but Mal was here, too. There was no way she could forget him, though remembering him was more than a little selfish. She rose to her feet and turned to face him.

“Can you stand?” she asked, willing her knees to stop wobbling. She wanted them sturdy for what was to come.

After giving her an assessing look, he stood up slowly. Glancing downward, she wondered that his trousers hadn’t split, because even with them on, it was obvious he was in extremity. Ah, well. Not too long now.

“You are the kindest man I know,” she said, stretching on tiptoes to kiss him softly on the mouth. He made a surprised noise, but kissed her back willingly enough. Her hands went to the remaining buttons on his shirt. “You are incredibly generous and brave.” She pushed the opened shirt off his shoulders, enjoying the swells and hollows of the muscles along the way and indulging in a sigh. “You are patient with me, when other men might not be.”

At that he looked annoyed.

“Evi —”

She kissed him again.

“Shh. My turn to talk.” He settled back down, but not without a cross look. She ignored that and traced the trail of dark hair that started at his navel and disappeared into his trousers. It was crisp beneath the pad of her finger, and his stomach muscles tensed in a delightful way at her touch. He said her name again, this time without irritation.

After enjoying the texture of his skin and hair for a moment longer, she tugged the tail of his belt out of the loop it was tucked behind and continued speaking.

“You are also stubborn and occasionally annoying, and I hate that you wake me up most mornings by eating toast in bed. If I could break you of any habit, it would be that.” He gave her a comically wounded look, but she knew he wouldn’t stop. She smiled tolerantly up at him and undid his belt buckle, fingers working on the buttons of his fly as she spoke. She tried not to brush against him too much, considerate of his current state. “I find you attractive for so many more reasons than just that you’re ridiculously good looking. It’s almost criminal, Mal. I’ve seen you cause traffic obstructions.”

“Not my fault,” he said, voice light and short of breath. “Those other fellows should have kept their eyes on the road.”  
“I didn’t say it was.” She pushed his trousers off his hips, and they hit the floor with a musical jangle from the belt buckle. One by one, she undid the buttons on his drawers, less careful this time about what she brushed. He thrust a little against her hand the first time or two, but after that remained heroically still. When she was done, she let the motion of her hands sliding inside to cup his backside push the drawers down. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in the moment and letting it increase her returning hunger. If he was partial to her thighs, then she was partial to this part of him. So convenient to hold on to during certain vigorous activities. She flexed her fingers. Or any time, really.

She rose on her toes again, and his hard length rubbed against her belly, leaving behind a trail of moisture. He groaned, long and low, dropping his chin on his chest.

“You are a good man, and I want you,” she breathed in his ear. He swallowed, and his hand lifted and caressed her back, stopping just in the curve of her waist. After a long moment where neither of them moved except to breathe, she added, “Standing? Maybe, um, against the dresser?”

"Yes."

Only that single, clipped syllable made it out before he ducked his head and captured her lips with his own. He wound his other arm around her, and she stumbled backwards, all of her skin alive with the smooth friction of his. They both fetched up against the dresser, making Mal’s bottles of hairdressing tonics and lotions clink together from the force of the collision. Several rocked and then tipped over, falling over the edge to the floor with loud clunks, though this registered only distantly in her head.

The edge of the dresser dug hard into Evrial’s back, but she didn’t have enough time to think about it, because he lifted his mouth from hers and turned her around so her belly pressed into the edge instead.

“Mal?” She planted her hands on the dresser top, ready to push herself up, but he reached in front of her and dragged his hand up her thigh, and she ended up bracing herself instead. Her breath caught on a sob as he teased the edges of her outer lips to get her to open up more. When she did, he thrust two fingers inside and brushed her clit with the edge of his thumb. She clenched around him, still running high from before and after undressing him.

“I’ve never felt you so —” His voice cracked. “So wet, honey. Fuck.” Her muscles tightened around his fingers again at the unexpected coarseness of his words.

He withdrew his hand and she whimpered at the loss, but then he was pushing into her from behind, hands tight on her hips, and the whimper turned into a moan which blended with Mal’s. Neither of them moved for one long, tense moment before he cursed again and started thrusting. Slow thrusts that still made the remaining glass containers on the dresser rattle against each other with their strength.

Evrial lowered her head nearly to the surface of the dresser, lost in the motion and the sensation. So good, so good, so good. It wasn’t until he changed the angle of his thrusting slightly and made her gasp that she realized she was chanting the words out loud. She gripped the edges of the dresser, but kept her thoughts to herself.

“Keep going, Evi,” he muttered. His hand crept up from her hip to cup her breast and roll her nipple between his fingers, and she couldn’t hold back a moan. Every touch there seemed to go straight to where they were joined. “Tell me how it feels.”

“You know how it feels, damn you,” she ground out, his fingers pushing her closer and closer to another orgasm.

“I want to hear it. Tell me, honey.” He abandoned her breast to trail his hand down her torso and unerringly found her clit. She cried out, and he grunted as her body's reaction was transferred to him. Her legs started to tremble as he stroked in time with his thrusts, pleasure rising to meet pleasure, and he snaked his other arm under hers, hand flat on the dresser next to her own. If she fell, he would catch her.

She alternated his name with moans and cries of pleasure, and his thrusts became more erratic as he occasionally answered back with her name or noises of his own. At last, it all got to be too much, and she said his name, ragged and low, as she came, back bowing. After slamming into her one more time, Mal followed with a hoarse shout and raised his arm to pull her tight against him. 

Mal dropped his head on the back of her neck, and they both waited for their breaths to slow. If not for the dresser and Mal’s weight against her back, she was sure she would have collapsed on the floor. Or melted. Melting seemed like a possibility.

He shifted behind her, and she murmured in protest, but it was only to pull himself out. His warmth stayed pressed along her back a while longer, their arms tangled together. It was comforting in the aftermath, and she felt . . . cared for. She didn’t know how else to put it.

Eventually he extracted one arm and reached to the side to open one of the slim drawers in the top row. Drawing out one of his handkerchiefs, he laid it on the dresser next to her hand while kissing her on the cheek and then stepped away to turn down the sheets on the bed. He knew she liked a moment of privacy to clean up, and she appreciated his thoughtfulness more than he probably knew.

She tossed the dirty handkerchief in the hamper and somehow managed to stumble to the bed without falling over. Mal helped her in with a hand under her elbow and a pat on the backside, and then crawled in after her. Once they were settled under the covers, he snuggled right back up to her with a contented sigh.

“Who knew you had it in you?” he murmured in an amused, speculative tone.

Evrial burrowed further under his arm.

“That was your influence,” she said against his chest.

He tugged gently on her hair until she tipped her head back to look at him. He grinned.

“Nah. That was a collaborative effort.” Her face grew hot and his grin got bigger. “I love it when you blush, too.”

“You love a lot of things,” she retorted, feeling unaccountably flustered.

“Mostly about you. And you. Mostly you.” His voice turned soft. “My Evi.”

As she lay there looking at him, so handsome and satisfied at this moment, the suspicion that this was all temporary came back to her. Regardless of what had just happened between them, it was probably only a matter of time before he realized it wasn’t worth the effort, and then she wouldn’t have him anymore. She kissed his shoulder and then rested her head against him, not wanting to ruin it all by letting him see her face. She didn’t even know what emotions might be on it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked after a pause.

Evrial rubbed her cheek on his chest, hoping it didn’t look too much like she was trying to hide her expression.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said.

“Something’s wrong. You should be as limp as a well-cooked noodle right now, but you’re all tense.” He kneaded the muscles at the base of her neck, and she tried to let the knots undo themselves, but couldn’t quite manage it. Mal’s hand stopped, and he let it rest on her back. He asked hesitantly, “Did I make you do anything you didn’t want to do? I thought you were, um, pretty into it, but I was too, so I might not have paid as much attention as I should have.”

She shoved herself up on her elbow and frowned down at him.

“Mal, if you had paid any more attention to me, I might have died.” He looked alarmed at that, so she added, more gently, “A happy death. A very happy, very satisfied death.”

“Well, then,” he said, giving her a cocky, relieved smile. She couldn’t help the answering smile that tugged at her own lips, because it really had been that good, but that was soon overshadowed by the prospect of one day giving it up, because it had stopped being good for him. His smile faded.

“You’re hiding, Evi,” he said softly. “Please don’t. Not from me.”

"It's just that . . ." She struggled to sit up, taking the sheet with her so there wouldn't be anything on view to distract him, now that she knew she could distract him. If she was going to confess to him, then he was going to pay attention. "One day you're going to get tired of me or bored or the novelty is going to fade, and it's just going to be me in this enormous bed. And my hand." Not even pine needles, feh. She let herself fall backward, pulling the sheet up over her head.  
"That's not going to happen," Maldynado said from the other side of the sheet.

"Right," she mumbled. "Because this is your flat, so me and my hand are going to be back in my narrow bed in the house with my father and my brother."

"Evi." He tugged on the sheet, and she let him pull it away from her face. He was propped up next to her, face serious. "We bought dishes together."

"What do dishes have to do with anything?"

"Everything. And the towels and the sheets and the credenza and a whole flat’s worth of furniture.”

"We didn't actually need the credenza," she said, rolling on her side toward him.

"If we're going to properly throw a dinner party, then we need a credenza. Those are the rules. I don't make them." She was actually fairly certain that he had made up the rule about the credenza being necessary, but refrained from saying so.

"What I'm trying to say," he continued, "is that we are domestic. Together. I don't want to shop for dishes and towels with anyone else." He stroked his finger down her cheek, smiling wistfully. “You’re my Evi. You’re my grouch. I need my grouch.”

“Most men don’t tolerate grouchiness very well,” she said in a thick voice. When he looked at her like that, she could see a future, nearly in reach and full of worn-out towels and chipped plates that needed replacing, so they could use the new ones up too. And replace those again, over and over.

“I went through a lot to get you in my life. A little grouchiness isn’t going to deter me now.” He flattened his hand on her neck and rubbed her jaw with his thumb. “I’ll put up with a lot to stick with you. Honey, you can’t mess this up. And I hope you won’t let me.”

She shook her head against his hand, unable to speak. Why couldn’t she just have been right from the very beginning? How did he end up proving her wrong so thoroughly? It wasn’t exactly painful, but it ached to have a heart so full with so many things. Believing after doubting for so long hurt.

“Oh, don’t cry,” he said. “Don’t cry. These are the good sheets.” She laughed and he pulled her against him, so she could bury her face in his neck while he rubbed her back. Only a few tears trickled out, but it felt good to be held while they did. Made the hurt lessen.

“When the kitchen towels with the chickens on them wear out,” she asked when they had lain together for a long while after her tears stopped, “do you think we could replace them with some that don’t have chickens on them?”

His arm tightened around her.

“They’re pretty sturdy,” he said cautiously. “That could take four or five years. A decade even. Longer.”

She smiled and tightened her own arms around him. No kitchen towel was going to last for a decade, but this wasn’t really about what they used to dry the dishes. Which they had bought together.

“I know,” she said. “I’m counting on it.”

The End


End file.
